


Stepping Up to the Plate

by flibbertygigget



Series: The Steps Universe [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Government Corruption, Injury Recovery, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 10:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16386356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: Ron Weasley may have been completely mediocre, but he could make a damn good cup of tea.





	Stepping Up to the Plate

Ron Weasley was completely mediocre. Growing up, he never had Bill’s smarts or Charlie’s Quidditch skills or the twins’ popularity. He would never possess Hermione’s drive or Harry’s pure daring. No, Ron didn’t have any fantastic skills to speak of, not any useful ones at least.

But he could make a damn good cup of tea, and sometimes that was all that was needed.

He had the tea tray all made up when Millicent Bulstrode came out of the spare room where Snape lay. A pot of Darjeeling, milk and sugar cubes on the side, and a small bowl of real chicken broth – none of that Muggle canned tripe. He stood quickly when he saw her. She looked strangely comfortable in the robes of a trainee Healer, comfortable in a way he had never felt in Auror robes. Her robes were ill-fitting, a bit short on the ankle and wrist, but they were a light, Slytherin mint green. That was why he’d called her in the first place. He couldn’t trust anyone else with Snape but a Slytherin.

“Well?” he said, a little harsher than he’d intended. “Is he going to be alright?” Millicent’s pinched expression softened slightly.

“He’s very weak,” she said, “both physically and mentally. I doubt that he’ll be able to eat normal meals or support himself for more than a few minutes. He’ll need small amounts of food every few hours for now.” Ron gestured at the tray.

“This alright?” he asked. Millicent nodded.

“Give him plenty of vegetables and protein if you can, but just getting him to _eat_ is more important. Do you have a house-elf?”

“No,” Ron said, bristling.

“I’ll see if my mother will let you borrow one of hers. She had several who were trained to help my grandfather when he was stricken with Goblin Sickness. They’ll know how to plan meals and help him physically recover, and you and Granger won’t have to work around your jobs.”

“Oh. Er.” Ron hadn’t expected that reasoning at all. “Hermione won’t go for it. But thanks anyways.”

“Let me rephrase that,” Millicent said with a frown. “You _will_ be borrowing my mother’s best-trained house-elf, because I _refuse_ to allow my former Head of House to remain in your care otherwise.”

“That’s illegal! The only reason he’s here and not in Azkaban is because I’m an Auror. You can’t risk him being sent back there now!”

“Hmm. Then I’d suggest you take my offer.” Her slight smirk faded when she glanced back at the door. “What I’m really worried about is his mental health. I can deal with what they put him through physically, I can even help alleviate some of the symptoms of his long-term exposure to the Dementors, but I’m not trained in Mind Healing. Even if I was, I doubt I could help him.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s an Occlumens, quite possibly the strongest Occlumens in the world. Usually Mind Healing is carried out through Legilimency, but I doubt there’s a Legilimens alive who could convince Professor Snape to bring down his shields, and breaking through them outright could shatter him permanently.”

“Shit,” Ron said. “Aren’t there any Mind Healers who don’t use Legilimency?”

“Yes,” Millicent said unhappily, “but their methods are generally considered less effective. If he were anyone else… But we can’t risk his mind.”

“Hermione might know what to do,” Ron said. “Maybe she knows some Muggle… stuff that could work.”

“I hope you’re right,” Millicent said. “I have to get back to St. Mungo’s. I’ll send the house-elf over once I talk with my mother, and I want you to Floo me if his condition changes.” She glanced back at the bedroom door again, obviously reluctant to leave.

“I’ll do that,” Ron said. “Besides, he’ll be fine. He’s recovered from Azkaban before.”

“That was right after the war. Things were different then, and there are only so many times one person can put his life back together before he just gives up.” Ron frowned at the tea tray, fiddling with the precise angles of the teapot, cup, and bowl.

“We can’t fix what’s already happened,” he said. “Hermione’s going to be playing the press in his favor and making sure he has the best legal representation there is. You’ll be making sure he recovers from that hellhole. The best I can do for now is bring him a cup of tea and something to eat.” Millicent was looking at him strangely, like she had never seen him before.

“You’ve changed,” she said.

“What do you mean by that?” Ron snapped. Millicent’s expression instantly closed.

“Nothing, I assure you,” she said coolly. “I’ll leave you to it, I suppose, but if the Professor’s hurt you will be answering to me.” She threw a small handful of Floo Powder into the fire and disappeared in a whoosh of green flame. Ron glared after her.

“Bloody crazy Slytherins,” he muttered, but then he looked down at the plate guiltily. It wasn’t Millicent’s fault that everything was cocked up. There had been times over the last three years that Ron had wondered if he was doing the right thing or if the long, difficult years of Auror training had just prepared him to be the tool used to enforce a Ministry that he was doubting more and more.

Perhaps it was just another symptom of Ron’s mediocrity, but Harry had been the main reason that he had chosen to become an Auror. It had seemed like the best way to continue their fight against the Dark, and Harry especially had always seemed secure in his righteousness. Sometimes Ron envied that security, that certainty, but he’d heard too much from Hermione about the miscarriages of justice she righted every day to feel the same.

At the same time, Ron was no leader or politician. He didn’t know how to fix whatever faults there were in the system or even necessarily what those faults were. He’d always been that way: a follower through and through, letting Harry and Hermione point out the flaws in his thinking and then doing his best to help them save the world. There had been a few times when his two best friends had mild disagreements, but this was the first time in his memory that they had been so completely opposed. And somehow, without realizing it until now, Ron had come down resolutely on Hermione’s side of the whole thing, if perhaps with a bit less revolutionary vigor.

“Tea first,” he said out loud, shaking himself from his faults. Revolution, vigorous or otherwise, could wait.

The guest room that Snape had been put in had all the personality of a hotel or a hospital. Ron privately thought that they could at least put in a painting or something, but it wasn’t as if they had used the guest room much in the year since they’d bought the place. Snape was propped up into a semi-sitting position, staring out the window onto their grey-looking patch of lawn. Somehow the natural light only accentuated his starved cheeks and hollow eyes.

“Sorry about the view,” Ron said, trying for cheerful. “It’s better in summer, I swear. Mum says that we should put in a vegetable garden, but Hermione and I both work too much to care for it. Besides, Hermione never cooks if she can get takeout, and I’m usually too tired to bother…” He trailed off, aware that he was babbling. A painfully awkward silence fell. “Anyways, I brought you some tea and soup. Millicent said that you should have something light every few hours. I’ll probably just keep a Heating Charm on the pot, unless you’d rather have something other than soup of course.” Snape turned to Ron slowly, as if just the act of moving his head was some kind of herculean effort, and looked at the tea tray as if he’d never seen anything like it.

“Thank you,” he said softly, and Ron almost winced. He hated – He _had_ hated Snape as much as the next Gryffindor, but no one should look so surprised to be brought a little food and tea. Ron set the tray on the night table and began to pour.

“Milk? Sugar?” Snape’s eyes were on Ron’s face, dark and narrow, as though he was calculating the likelihood of getting away with directing the younger man.

“Just – Just a little milk,” he said. Ron nodded and handed the cup to Snape. The man’s hands were shaking, but Ron had anticipated that and only filled the cup halfway.

“Do you want anything else?” Ron asked. “A book or – or something? Hermione mostly just has a bunch of reference books, but I’m sure I could find a few Muggle novels somewhere.” Snape shook his head, gaze sliding back to the window. “Right. I’ll be back in a bit for the tray then.” That seemed to shake Snape a bit out of his apathy.

“Wait,” he said. “Has there – has there been any word on the verdict?” Ron grimaced.

“Not yet,” he said. “Hermione’ll probably have some word when she gets back.” Snape nodded absently. “Um, are you sure you’re alright, Professor? I mean, you seem a little…” Snape’s eyes focused on Ron so suddenly that it almost made him jump.

“A little what?”

“Never mind!” Snape’s jaw clenched. “It’s just that you seemed a little… out of it, that’s all.” Snape let out a soft sigh.

“It’s been more difficult this time,” he said slowly, his voice heavy with self-disgust. “I – I let the Dementors affect me. There were more of them this time as well, and I couldn’t…” Snape’s hair swung forward, obscuring his face. It was long and greasy even for him, and Ron tried desperately to not see beneath it. Let the man break down in peace.

“I really did think that things would be different after we defeated You-Know-Who,” Ron said apologetically. “Kingsley and McGonagall seemed to have some things figured out, but for every step forward it seems like we’re taking two steps back. Three years ago you wouldn’t have been thrown in with the Dementors while you waited for your trial, but, well…”

“You don’t have to explain Ministry politics to me, Mr. Weasley.”

“I know,” Ron said. “I just wish I knew how to help. Not you – well, of course you, but not _just_ you. Everyone.” Snape swirled the tea in his cup, and Ron was strangely reminded of the tea leaves that he had never learned to read.

“Not many people would bother to bring me tea,” Snape said at last. “Even fewer would open up their home to a convicted Death Eater.” Ron felt himself turning red.

“It’s the least I could do,” he muttered. “Besides, Hermione’s the one doing the real work.” Snape looked up at him, and Ron almost stumbled backwards at the flinty look in his eyes.

“Don’t,” he said. “Anyone else would have given up or washed their hands of me long ago.”

“So?” Snape gave a long-suffering sigh.

“That is evidence enough that your… empathy and generosity, at the very least, are greater than the average wizard’s. For you to risk opening your come to me, for you to go against everyone you know-“ His head jerked back downwards, staring into the oak-brown depths of the teacup. “I can never repay you for this. It is far more than I deserve.”

“Look, if everyone else would just let you, I don’t know, rot in a cell or something, they’re idiots. It would take an idiot to think that we could’ve won the war without you.” Snape shrugged.

“You would have found a way,” he said. “My role… I fear I did far more harm than good, and the good I did do could have been passed on to anyone.”

“Well, then, I guess that you’re in good company,” Ron said. “All I can think of to do is make bloody tea.” The corner of Snape’s mouth twitched, and Ron thought that he could see a shadow of the smirk that had meant failure or detention.

“In all fairness, it is a very good cup of tea,” he said.


End file.
